A Way With Words
by jackwabbit
Summary: Angst, DanielJack Friendship. Serious Friendship Plus to Pre Slash. Occurs After The Light, Before Meridian. Summary: Words Are Daniel’s Strongpoint, But Jack Has More Skill Than He Lets On.


**A Way With Words**

Rated: PG-13

Category: Angst, Daniel/Jack Friendship. Pre-Slash.

Season: Late Season Four, Early Five (After The Light, Before Meridian)

Spoilers: In Order Referenced: Children of the Gods, Need, Message In A Bottle, The Fifth Race, Legacy, Within The Serpent's Grasp, Shades of Grey, Small Victories, Upgrades, The Light. A Knowledge Of British Comedy Helps, Too.

Summary: Words Are Daniel's Strongpoint, But Jack Has More Skill Than He Lets On.

---

Jack called in sick.

He never called in sick.

Daniel fidgeted and fussed around his lab all day. When Sam came by to see if he wanted to eat lunch with her, he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of her voice.

He avoided Teal'c and General Hammond as much as possible.

He felt sure everyone could see his embarrassment.

When he was alone, he tried to work, but he could get nothing done.

Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore. He threw the alien artifact he had been studying to the table in frustration and cried out to the empty room.

"God! Why did I have to say it out loud? Why did I have to push him?"

The room offered no answers. Daniel sighed loudly and bowed his head. Both hands came up to run through his short brown hair and then rested on the back of his neck.

Another sigh escaped.

Daniel sat very still for several minutes, then slowly turned his head to the left to check the time.

15 35.

The archeologist mumbled to himself in a barely intelligible murmur.

"Screw it. I'm going home. They can call me if they need me. What are they going to do? Court martial me? Besides, I'm not getting any work done here anyway."

Daniel laughed a little and picked up his head, then stood and grabbed his jacket on his way out the door.

Twenty minutes later, Daniel was gone.

He was home half an hour after that.

Leaving the mountain, however, didn't help him much with his nervous fidgeting.

He tried to read.

He tried to watch television.

He tried to sleep.

He succeeded at none of these tasks, so eventually he settled on pacing to fill his mind and his time.

Up and down the living room he went.

Over and over.

Muttering to himself all the while.

He played the scene that was causing him this distress over and over again in his head, and lambasted himself for allowing it to happen.

'It was only last night,' thought Daniel.

A mere twenty-four hours ago.

Everything had been normal.

Everything had been ok.

And now everything was shot to hell.

XXX

Jack O'Neill pulled a tee-shirt over his head, toweled off his spiky hair a final time, and looked questioningly at the archeologist at the locker next to his for a moment before speaking.

"So, Daniel…what'cha doin' tonight?"

Daniel looked over at Jack somewhat quizzically.

"I don't know. Why?"

Jack grimaced, as if a bit uncomfortable. "Well, I don't know…just wondered if you wanted to hang out…"

"Hang out?"

"Yeah, you know…hang out. Maybe watch a hockey game or something…"

"Jack, when are you going to learn I don't really like hockey?"

"Ok…whatever…just…never mind."

Jack stormed out of the locker room in annoyance.

It took Daniel about fifteen seconds to go after him.

"Jack!" Daniel called loudly down the hall after his friend.

O'Neill turned, and lifted his eyebrows.

"Yeah?"

"Look, I didn't mean to be rude. Ok."

"Ok, what?"

"I'll come over if you want."

"Who said anything about you coming over?"

Daniel faltered. "Oh…um…I don't know…um…I thought…"

Jack sighed in exasperation. "Look, Daniel. I have tickets to the minor league game tonight, and…never mind…I'll just ask Teal'c, ok? Sorry."

Jack turned away from Daniel then, and although it was brief, the archeologist saw the slightest flicker of hurt in the older man's eyes before Jack's usual stony mask was back in place.

Daniel's face contorted with guilt. He felt bad for hurting Jack's feelings, and it took only a moment for him to call his friend a second time.

"Jack!"

Jack turned again, irritated. "What?"

"I'll go."

"It's ok, Daniel. You don't want to."

"No, I do. It might be fun. Beats another night at home by myself."

Jack looked skeptical.

"Seriously, Jack. I just misunderstood. I'll go."

Jack seemed to mull over Daniel's words for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. Ok."

"Ok. What time? You want me to meet you at the game?"

Jack shrugged. "Nah, I'll pick you up. It's on the way."

"Ok. See you tonight, then."

"Tonight it is, Daniel. About seven."

"Ok."

Jack turned on his heel and left Daniel alone in the hallway. The younger man watched Jack go, then turned and headed back into the locker room to collect his things before heading home.

XXX

As seven o'clock neared, Daniel was deep into a new book he had been dying to read and was wishing he hadn't told Jack he'd go to the game. But a promise was a promise, so he set the book aside and slipped on his shoes as he heard a truck rumble up his drive.

He met Jack at the door, as he'd done a hundred times before, and the two men journeyed into the night with little preamble, neither having any idea that this night would be anything but routine.

XXX

By the end of the first period, Daniel was bored. He'd entertained himself so far by watching the crowd and their reactions to the game, but it was getting old. The game itself, while not exactly boring, just didn't hold his interest. Jack didn't seem to notice Daniel's ennui, because he was completely immersed in the contest, so conversation was minimal between the two.

Daniel sighed to himself.

He tried to watch the ice-skating gladiators again as the second period started, but when the visitors got called for 'icing', a penalty he still didn't understand despite Jack's repeated attempts at explanation, he gave up.

His gaze slid sideways to watch the man beside him, who seemed angry at the call.

And suddenly he realized how to entertain himself. Why hadn't he thought of it sooner?

Jack was happy.

Here.

Now.

Jack O'Neill was happy.

Despite his outburst over the game, Daniel saw a light in Jack's eyes that was alive with joy.

It was such a rare treat to see Jack simply enjoying himself, without worry, that Daniel's heart was lifted at the sight of it.

Daniel began to watch the game out of one corner of his eye and Jack out of the other.

This made things much more interesting. Jack's reactions let Daniel know more about what was going on in the game than he would have ever picked up on his own.

Jack seemed to be supporting the visiting team, and he wasn't afraid to show it. Several spectators nearby occasionally threw nasty looks toward the vocal Colonel, but Jack didn't seem to notice and things stayed pretty peaceful, so Daniel ignored them.

After a particularly nice save by Jack's team's goalie, Jack clapped Daniel on the back with enough force to nearly knock the wind out of him and yelled loudly into his ear.

"That deserves a drink, Dannyboy! What'll it be? I'm buying!"

Daniel couldn't spoil Jack's fun, so he nodded back. "Whatever you're having."

Jack waved over the beer vendor and ordered up two drinks. He turned and handed one to Daniel, then took his seat again.

Jack resumed watching the game, and Daniel resumed watching Jack.

Jack's beer was gone quickly, but Daniel sipped his over almost an entire period. As the alcohol slowly permeated his rather naïve system, a warmth spread through him as if he was covered in a soft blanket.

Strange thoughts began to fall like leaves through his consciousness, and he left all pretense of watching the game behind. His full attention was on Jack now.

Jack.

Jack O'Neill.

His team leader.

His friend.

His hero.

And his savior.

As Daniel's mind wandered, he was taken back to all those nights spent at Jack's when he had first lost Sha're. When he'd wanted nothing more than to curl up and die from the pain of losing yet another person he cared about. The tears that had been shed there had linked him to Jack O'Neill with bonds stronger than forged steel. Jack had been the strong one, the never-sagging shoulder of support for the younger Daniel, and Daniel was grateful for it. He'd never thanked Jack for the blankets that had covered him when he'd fallen asleep on the floor, or the gentle hands that had woken him from a hundred nightmares filled with glowing yellow eyes, or the whispered midnight reassurances not to give up.

They never talked about it. It was an unspoken rule.

As if what happened by night no longer existed in the daylight.

Daniel never mentioned the night that his tears were not the only ones flowing. The one night out of many from that time that Jack's shoulder had faltered, and broken words like 'little boy' and 'loved her' and 'pushed her away' and 'my fault' had torn themselves from Jack's soul like some sort of demonic birds seeking release.

Daniel had been the one to wake Jack that night, and by morning it was forgotten.

It was always that way.

Jack suddenly leaps to his feet and yells out a protest, bringing Daniel back to the present momentarily, but when Jack calms down, new thoughts come to the archeologist's mind.

Jack's face over the barrel of a gun.

"I know what this is. I know what it's like. You can get through it…"

And then the cold. The endless cold. The shivering, the seizures, the fear.

Jack holding him, telling him it would be ok.

Jack…his only hope in the dark yet again.

And again, nothing was said.

Daniel finishes his beer and nods to the passing vendor for another. Jack shoots him a questioning glance but says nothing.

Images flash faster now.

Jack pinned to the gateroom wall.

Jack slowly losing his mind and himself to knowledge that was not his own.

Jack wanting to believe him in a padded room, but being forced to accept the truth.

Heartbreak etched into strong features as a bullet lances Skaara's chest.

And then the images are gone, replaced by a voice. A voice that cannot be forgotten.

"I'd rather be a thief and alive than honest and dead. It's a cliché but there it is."

"You had to sense some of this."

"Apparently not much of a foundation there, huh?"

Daniel can't stop the shudder that runs through him as this last line runs through his mind. Somehow, Jack notices. The graying head turns and soft eyes regard Daniel.

"Hey, you ok?"

A brave nod is Daniel's only response for a moment, then words come. "Yeah."

"You sure? You wanna head home early?"

"No…I'm fine…just watch the game. I'll be right back."

XXX

The cold water on his face is refreshing, but it does nothing to help Daniel's mood.

He leaves the bathroom and finds his seat still thinking of Jack's words from not so long ago.

Words.

Words had destroyed what had never been spoken of.

Ironic.

Words had attempted to mend that breach.

They had pretended that a simple apology was enough. That words could erase the hurt, the pain, and the underlying erosion of their friendship that eight words had caused.

But words had failed miserably.

Only actions had finally mended their bonds. More images assault Daniel.

Jack's face on a monitor, pleading, before he falls.

A look of understanding across a bar.

Jack's face over his shoulder, certain salvation in the face of suicidal madness.

Jack's face above his, a hand under his neck, pulling him back from death.

And still nothing was said. No thanks was given.

It had never been needed. It was always just understood.

Actions had always spoken louder than words. It was another cliché, but true all the same. Actions. Always actions with Daniel Jackson and Jack O'Neill. Never words.

But suddenly, for Daniel Jackson, that was no longer enough. He needed to say the words.

He acutely felt a longing to tell Jack what he meant to him, to thank him for the countless times he had saved him, from enemies within and without.

But while the need was there, the words wouldn't come. Daniel didn't know how to say what needed said, and so his lips moved soundlessly.

The game ended with a loud buzzing noise and a curse from Jack.

The visitors had lost.

The crowd began to move, breaking up and finding its way to the exits.

Jack stood.

Daniel remained seated, confusion etched into his face.

Jack looked down at the younger man and frowned.

"Daniel, you sure you're ok? You look a little pale."

Daniel shrugged and stood, pulling his coat on as he did so. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Jack shrugged back. "Ok, if you say so. Let's go."

Jack led the way out then, and Daniel followed. As always.

Fifteen minutes later, as Jack battled traffic leaving the hockey arena, Daniel was still struggling to find the words he wanted to say to Jack. Nothing seemed adequate, and Jack seemed to notice Daniel's agitation, so Daniel closed his eyes and pretended to rest to hide his unease. The long day caught up with the archeologist, however, and he began to doze in the passenger seat almost immediately. He drifted off to a comfortable sleep; his need to talk to Jack momentarily forgotten.

A ear splitting wail roused Daniel some time later.

He didn't know where he was for a second, and panic gripped his gut. His head swiveled side to side and his eyes widened in alarm. A hand touched his shoulder. Daniel hastily slapped it away.

Jack shouted out to calm his friend.

"Whoa! Dannyboy! Calm down! It's me, it's Jack!"

"Jack?"

"Yeah. It's ok. Calm down."

Daniel took a deep, steadying breath then pulled off his glasses and ran one hand over his face wearily before speaking. "Ok. What's going on?"

Daniel had just noticed that the car had stopped. There were bright red and blue lights flashing all around it, and policemen were directing traffic up ahead.

Jack shrugged. "Don't know. Looks like an accident."

Daniel nodded back in silent agreement.

It took twenty minutes for Jack and Daniel to reach the scene of the accident. When they did, a policewoman waved them around the wreck with a large lighted baton. Two ambulances were parked across the road, blocking most of the scene from view, but as Daniel glanced out the window, he saw a limp figure being lifted onto a gurney by two paramedics while another pulled a zipper closed on a black nylon bag on the ground.

The image flashed by in a millisecond, but it burned itself into Daniel's brain and refused to be shut out. Daniel wondered if the people in the wreck had said everything that had needed saying before they died. He wondered if they had regrets. Daniel's hand acted of it's own volition.

An iron grip enclosed Jack's forearm as it rested on the seat between the two men, and Daniel was filled with a determination to finally speak his mind.

Jack looked up in shock and surprise. Daniel was sitting in the passenger seat staring straight ahead. His mouth was set in a tight line and his face was pale.

"Daniel? You ok?"

Daniel did not answer. His head might have shaken the tiniest negative, but Jack wasn't sure.

"You need me to pull over? Those beers get to you or what?"

This time Daniel did shake his head, but Jack spotted a restaurant parking lot up ahead and pulled into it anyway. He could tell something was wrong, and very wrong, with his friend.

As Jack pulled into the empty parking lot, Daniel's newfound courage fled. His hand faltered and let go of Jack's arm. As the car slowed and then stopped, Jack looked at his friend quizzically and Daniel shakily made an excuse for his actions.

"Sorry. My stomach was a little upset there for a minute. Guess you were right. Beer and me don't get along too well."

Jack snorted. "Tell me about it."

Daniel snorted back. "Well, I'd like to see you slug down some Abydonian moonshine."

"I did, remember? Still don't see how you could stomach the stuff. I mean, if you can handle that, beer should be like water to you."

Daniel shrugged. "Guess I'm one of the great mysteries of the universe."

Jack laughed out loud. "You're right about that, but it's got nothing to do with your drinking preferences."

The sound was like music to Daniel's ears, and he laughed too.

Another image, this one of Jack's open mouthed guffaw silhouetted by a streetlamp, was filed away in Daniel's memory.

The rest of the ride to Daniel's was uneventful, and the car was filled with easy conversation about everything and nothing. Daniel was still a bit preoccupied with his earlier train of thought, but for a while the words he hadn't said seemed not so important.

When Jack pulled into Daniel's driveway a little later, though, Daniel wasn't quite ready for the night to end. His mind had reminded him too forcefully and too persistently that time with Jack O'Neill was a precious commodity, meant to be savored, and he wanted a little more of it. Daniel couldn't believe his luck when Jack shut off the engine and spoke quietly.

"Daniel?"

"Yeah?"

"You got a coffee or something I can bum for the road? I'm tired."

Daniel nodded numbly. "Yeah. Coffee I can handle."

Jack grinned. "Thought you might be able to oblige."

XXX

Three hours and several cups later, Daniel Jackson and Jack O'Neill were laughing again.

This time, it was at the antics of a man who was half cat, an android, a hologram, and a human. The television depicting these characters flickered colored light on the walls of Daniel's dark living room and illuminated two lounging forms on the couch.

"I can't believe we're watching this…" Daniel seemed mortified.

Jack swatted him with a couch pillow. "Oh, come on! This is great!"

"Whatever you say, Jack." Daniel tried to sound serious, but couldn't stop a chuckle from escaping his mask of strict composure.

Jack pointed a finger in mock warning. "I'll have you know, Daniel, that 'Red Dwarf' is a classic, and I'll not have it ridiculed by the common soldiery."

Daniel made a gesture of complete bafflement with his hands.

"WHAT? Soldiery?"

Jack clapped a hand to his forehead. "You mean you've never seen 'Life of Brian'?"

"Life of who?"

"Brian, Daniel! Brian! It's Monty Python, for cryin' out loud!" Jack shook his head. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. It's gonna have to wait for another night. Just watch the show. Trust me, it's greatness."

Daniel muttered under his breath. "Yes, sir."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"You called me 'sir'."

"Yeah, I called you 'sir'. I figured if you're going to call me a soldier, then why not?"

"I told you! It's from a movie! Now knock it off! This is the best part!"

"How do you know?"

"I've seen every episode of this show at least two or three times."

"Really?" Daniel was aghast. "Why?"

Jack growled back a response. "I told you…it's a classic."

Daniel shrugged and let it go. He was starting to feel a little drowsy. It was very late. He knew that while Jack probably did like the show, the real reason his friend had seen every episode more than once was because the Colonel often didn't sleep well, and the local PBS station could always be counted on to play British comedy in the wee hours of the night.

Daniel also knew that Jack had made an excuse to come in earlier, and that he'd stayed because he was worried about Daniel's bizarre behavior, but he didn't care. He had thoroughly enjoyed Jack's company tonight. It had been a comfortable evening. Just Jack and Daniel. Hanging out. Almost like old times.

It had been nice.

Daniel hadn't smiled so much, or seen Jack smile so much, in a very long time.

As Daniel's lids began to droop, and sleep seemed very close, Jack burst into the hysterical laughter that only very late nights can bring next to him on the couch.

"Man, I love that guy!" Jack gestured toward the one called 'Rimmer' on the screen.

The words were out before Daniel could stop them.

"I love _you_."

Jack's laughter stopped. The smile was wiped instantly from his face. His head swiveled to look at Daniel. The TV continued to flicker, but no one noticed.

The room seemed to get very small. Daniel found it hard to breathe.

Jack's breathing, on the other hand, was deep and a little ragged.

His expression was unreadable, but it most closely resembled anger, and Daniel felt fear rising up in his throat.

Blue eyes valiantly met brown, unapologetic, and glares held for several long seconds.

And then Jack's gaze faltered. His eyes tore themselves away from Daniel's and his head jerked roughly to one side.

Without a word, Jack stood. He slipped his feet into his untied boots and stepped toward the door.

Daniel's reaction was almost too slow. He almost missed.

Almost, but not quite.

His grip on Jack's arm was strong, like it had been earlier in the car.

"Jack."

When no response of any sort was offered, Daniel continued.

"Jack, I know things like this make you uncomfortable, and for that I'm sorry, but I had to say it. We've nearly lost each other too many times for it not to be said."

Jack's head gave a barely perceptible nod and then he wrenched his arm out of Daniel's grasp. He still said nothing and he still continued to the door. When he reached it, Daniel was still sitting on the couch, confused and conflicted.

Jack turned at the door, and his eyes found Daniel's again. He looked almost apologetic, and there seemed to be some sort of battle raging behind the dark pupils.

Blue and brown held again for what seemed an eternity, and again it was Jack who ended the moment. When a blink broke the look, he stepped out the door and closed it behind him.

Daniel was too stunned by what he had seen in Jack's eyes to move for a moment.

When he sprinted to the driveway, Jack's truck was already gone.

XXX

The shrill ring of the phone interrupted Daniel's flashback.

He jerked around, for a moment too disoriented to identify the noise.

He picked up on the third ring.

The voice on the other end of the line was the only one Daniel wanted to hear, and relief coursed through his veins as he realized that at least Jack was ok and willing to talk to him.

"You keep pacing like that and you'll wear a hole in the carpet."

"Jack?"

"Yep."

There was something odd in Jack's voice as he spoke, but Daniel couldn't put his finger on it.

"How did you know I was pacing? Where are you?"

"In my truck."

"Which is where?"

"In your driveway."

Daniel blinked a few times in surprise. He hadn't heard the vehicle pull up.

"What are you doing here?"

The line was silent for a long minute before Jack responded. There was a quaver in his voice when he finally spoke.

"Wondered if I could come in."

Daniel blinked rapidly a more few times before answering. Jack had never asked permission to come over before, and it scared Daniel that he would do so now.

"Yeah. Of course."

The line went dead.

Daniel strode to the front door and opened it to reveal a very nervous looking Colonel O'Neill.

Jack was tapping one hand on his thigh, and the other ran quickly through his short hair as the light from inside the house spilled a yellow rectangle into the night.

When Jack spoke, however, there was no nervousness in his voice. He seemed all business.

"Daniel."

"Jack."

"You gonna invite me in?"

"Uh…yeah…sure, Jack…come on in. You want coffee or anything?"

"Nope. I'm fine."

Jack stepped around Daniel then, and as he did Daniel caught the odor of whiskey on the air behind him. The odd note in Jack's voice came back to him, and Daniel knew that Jack was drunk.

"Jack?"

Jack turned around from the living room and answered almost rudely. "Yeah?"

"You been drinking?"

"A bit."

Daniel knew that 'a bit' to Jack O'Neill might be just that, or it could mean that his friend was truly three sheets to the wind. He sighed to himself.

"How'd you get here?"

"Told you I was in my truck earlier, didn't I? I drove."

"Was that smart?"

Jack shrugged. "Probably not."

Daniel didn't respond. He merely shut the door behind him and stepped into the house, following Jack into the living room.

Ironically, Jack began to pace in the same space that Daniel had recently vacated.

Daniel wasn't sure what to do, so he settled on just waiting. He knew Jack would talk when he was ready, and not before. He didn't have to wait long.

"But I didn't come here to talk about my driving decisions."

Daniel lifted his eyebrows. "You came here to talk?"

Jack grimaced a bit, as if admitting that was physically painful to him.

"I came here to apologize."

Daniel stammered. "Wh…what? For what?"

Jack sighed. "For last night. For today. I'm sorry."

Daniel began to argue. "No, Jack, look. I'm the one who should apologize. I don't know why it mattered so much to me to tell you. I know you don't like that sort of thing…"

Daniel's words died in his throat at Jack's response. Jack had continued to pace while Daniel spoke, but at his last line Jack's head snapped up suddenly and his body went rigid.

"I like it fine, Daniel," whispered Jack. "It's just that I'm no good at it. I freaked out. I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's ok. It happens. I feel bad for even mentioning it. I just…wanted you to know…in case…well, you know…"

"Yeah, I know…and I know how you feel…"

Daniel hadn't thought it possible that Jack's voice could be any quieter, but these last words were delivered in the tiniest hint of a whisper. Still, somehow, they were clearly understandable.

Daniel didn't dare to break the soft stillness of the moment with speech, and before long Jack continued to talk in that same quiet whisper.

"You didn't have to say it…I already knew…we've never needed words…but…I know why you did. You said it because you needed to. Because that sort of thing matters to you. And I should understand that, as your friend…brother…whatever…I should be there when you need something…you shouldn't have to worry about my response…so…I'm sorry, ok? I'm sorry."

Daniel knew that alcohol had loosened Jack's tongue, but he was still so shocked by this lengthy speech from his usually taciturn friend that it took him a moment to answer. When he did finally speak, tears filled his eyes and his voice was lower than usual.

"It's ok, Jack. Really. It's ok."

One tear escaped Daniel's left eye.

Jack noticed.

The older man stepped forward and raised one hand to wipe away the salty wetness.

The gesture wasn't awkward at all. It merely was.

As Jack's hand fell away, he looked at Daniel with a gentle question in his eyes.

Daniel sniffed once. "Sorry."

Jack waved the hand that had just returned to him. "No problem. What's wrong?"

Daniel sniffed again, softly. "Nothing…it's just…brother?"

Jack moved so quickly Daniel didn't even see him. He only felt strong arms embrace him tenderly and then Jack's head was next to his. Jack's mouth moved in the crook of his neck.

"More."

It was only one word.

One measly, little word.

But it meant the world to Daniel Jackson. He knew that Jack O'Neill was a man of actions, and that words were hard for him. He knew that the words spoken last night would probably never be returned, but it didn't matter.

'More' had said more than enough.

When the two men broke apart after what could have been a minute or a year, Daniel smiled and nodded to the couch.

"I think you've pressed your driving luck enough tonight, Jack. Why don't you crash here?"

Jack nodded mutely. He kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto his back on the couch in exhaustion, taking up the entire length of the sofa.

Daniel looked down at him for a second before giving a mock complaint. He playfully smacked Jack's feet as he spoke.

"Hey, move over. I think 'Red Dwarf' is on."

Jack grinned lopsidedly and rolled onto his side, pulling his knees up as he did so. Now he only took up two of the three couch cushions.

Daniel plopped into the empty space at one end of the couch, pulled the handle that caused his section to recline, and flicked on the TV.

'Red Dwarf' wasn't on, but some other program (involving a prince scheming to get the crown from his older brother and father) was, and it caught Daniel's interest. He hated to admit it, but this British comedy thing was intriguing.

Both men would fall asleep on the couch that night, and neither would wake until morning.

Daniel would wake first, with his head leaning back on the couch behind him and the heavy weight of human feet in his lap. Soft snores would fill the room. The television would be showing a gaudy children's cartoon. It would take a moment for Daniel to notice the soft light streaming through the windows, and a moment more for him to crane his neck around to squint at the kitchen clock and understand how late it was.

He'd wake Jack in a hurry then.

The two men would be hard pressed to get to the mountain on time, and sometime during the melee of Daniel rushing to get dressed, coffee, a quick jaunt to Jack's for him to shave and dress, and stopping for donuts that Jack insisted they needed, Daniel would wordlessly hand Jack a bottle of Tylenol for the obvious hangover headache he was nursing.

Jack would nod his thanks and Daniel would nod back in understanding.

They would make it to their first meeting with five minutes to spare, and they would begin another day, brothers in arms and so much more.

But for now, Jack was too sleepy to think much, and as his weary friend began to drift away, Daniel's only thought was that while he didn't use it often, Jack O'Neill most certainly had a way with words after all.


End file.
